In the Meat Locker
by Nosneb
Summary: What if Rigby had been hallucinating in the meat locker? Mild language and depressing character themes. Based off "Meat Your Maker."  Moved from a different account.


**A/N:** I've been recently obsessed with this new Cartoon Network show called Regular Show. It is literally some of the funniest shit I have ever seen. When I was on /co/ yesterday, someone posted a picture of the recent episode, "Meat Your Maker." I wrote the story, and here it is.

**WARNING! Contains major spoilers for "Meat Your Maker," and depressing as fuck.**

This is rated T for mild language and depressing character themes. I'd tell you to enjoy, but...please don't cry, okay? :P

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This was the last thing Rigby had planned on doing on the annual barbecue. However, the raccoon had been stupid and had insisted on cooking the expensive hotdogs with his friend, Mordecai, instead of waiting for Benson, Skips, and Pops, accidentally ruining the wieners in the process. And that itself had been enough to piss off the blue jay. Of course, it only got worse; not only had he locked them both in the meat locker by not securing the ice bags that held the door open, but he also broke the thermostat, making it at least twenty degrees colder.

And there he was, looking up at Mordecai, his best friend (hell, his only friend), who in return was glaring daggers at him with his arms crossed tightly against his chest. Rigby noticed he was doing much, MUCH worse than he himself was doing in this cold weather, only managing in increasing his guilt.

"Dude, don't be mad at me!" Rigby yelled defiantly. Mordecai just huffed and turned his back on his, shivering something fierce while rubbing his wings with his feathers, trying to savor the heat the friction caused. Rigby's hope fell and he became desperate. He already blamed himself for this; the fact that the blue jay wouldn't even look at him was just cruel at this point. "MORDECAI, DON'T DIE MAD AT ME!"

Without turning his back an inch, Mordecai hissed back, "Too..." - he paused to shiver ferociously - "late..." and with a groan, he fell to the ground motionless with a thump.

Rigby gasped, immediately running and kneeling by his head on the cold, hard floor of this goddamned meat locker. Gingerly, he placed his paws on the bird's head. It was cold to the touch.

"Mordecai?" No response. Rigby's heart stopped.

"MORDECAI?" Still nothing.

Dismayed, Rigby moved his paws to clutch at the fur on his head. "Oh, no, oh, no!" he cried._This can't be happening,_ he screamed in his head, _this stuff just DOESN'T HAPPEN! _"I can fix this. I can FIX this!" he tried to reassure himself. He felt like he could cry, but he was pretty sure his tear ducts had frozen shut about seven minutes ago.

Not about to abandon his frozen friend, Rigby grabbed a hold of Mordecai's legs, draped them over his shoulder, and dragged him across the floor. He knew that if the situations had been switched, Mordecai would've at least had the decency to carry him. But due to the size difference, Rigby was left with no choice.

A pain stabbed his heart. _Okay, _he thought, _time to stop thinking about THAT._

"Don't worry, Mordecai," he told his motionless roommate, even though it was more directed at himself, as he ventured deeper into the locker, "I'm gonna take care of us; you'll see."

Deeper and deeper he explored the locker, looking for some way, some magical way, to get the hell out of this place. After a little while, Rigby stopped dragging Mordecai by his feet and choose to drag him while holding onto his torso, just in case, by some miracle, the blue jay woke up.

What seemed like hours went by, and there was no luck in finding an exit; just thousands of frozen boxes with frozen meats in them. Still, the raccoon kept going, determined to save himself and his best friend. However, the cold had started getting to him, and his pace slowed by a tremendous amount. He could barely feel his feet or his arms as he continued to cradle Mordecai's feathered torso as he tresses on.

"How'm I doin'?" he panted, believing to be talking to Mordecai. "Huh, Mordecai? Am I doin' alright?" He, stopped, looked down and carefully picked up Mordecai's sagging head.

"'Yeah, Rigby,'" he moved the bird's mouth for him and changed his own voice pitch, basically making Mordecai a puppet, "'you're doing good.'"

Rigby couldn't keep this up. With a load groan, he let himself drop Mordecai onto the ground. Taking a few staggering steps forward, Rigby's body finally gave in; his legs buckled and he collapsed onto the floor, knocking his head against a box on his way down.

As he lay on the cold, metal ground, thoughts started flooding into his head, realizations dawned on him, and memories started replaying themselves.

He was going to die here, and Mordecai already died.

His best friend in the entire universe froze to death while Rigby was trying to save him. If Rigby had been able to move his arms, he would've covered his eyes in shame.

He was a terrible, horrible person. The raccoon got everything coming to him. But Mordecai, no, Mordecai was just a victim. He never did anything wrong and always put up with Rigby's stupid decisions. If anything, he should have still been alive, earning promotions from Benson, going on hot dates with that robin he liked, Margaret.

But no; because of stupid, crappy Rigby, he was dead.

How the hell did any of this happen, anyway? Rigby couldn't even remember.

Well, he remembered it had something to do with meat. That was a obvious.

_Oh yeah, _he remembered. _I screwed up the fancy, foreign hot dogs Benson bought._ Hot dogs. And to think, throughout this entire, horrible experience, he never even found the damn hotdogs.

Opening his eyes a little, Rigby looked through slits at the box he banged his head on. Because of his location, Rigby could only see one side.

Besides from some shaven ice stuck on it, there was nothing interesting about that box side; it was basically frozen, blank cardboard.

That being said, Rigby stared at he box. At this point, his entire lower half was paralyzed, except for his tail which was furiously twitching. Staring at the box, he felt parts of hid brain beginning to shut down and in an instant, his eyes blurred up. A bit confused, he blinked.

_The words "Hot Dogs" suddenly appeared like magic on the side of the box. Or had they always been there? Rigby's eyes widened in fascination, and bolted up from the ground. What had happened to his exhaustion and his acute frostbite? Aw, whatever; that didn't matter. He rushed over to the cardboard box and brushed off the ice with his paw, to make sure his mind wasn't playing a trick on him. Sure enough, the words were painted on there._

_Rigby gaped in astonishment, Rushing, he opened up the top of the box and peered inside. He gasped._

_"Hot dogs!"_

_A package of pink wieners looked at him with a sad expression. Since when did hot dogs have faces? "I've been looking all over for you!" the raccoon breathed in dismay._

_"Please, frozen stranger!" cried one of the hot dogs on top, poking the plastic packaging. "Can you free us?"_

_An idea popped into Rigby's head. "Yeah, I can free you." he simply stated. His eyes squinted until they were nothing more than slits. "But you're gonna have to do something for me. Here's what you gotta do..."_

Rigby's eyes were completely glazed over, his mind shutting down in some places while overworking in others. His tail was practically having a seizure behind him, he somehow still having control over it in an attempt to keep most of him mobile. It abruptly stopped when his tail hit something cold and soft, like a frozen pillow.

Without even looking, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it was Mordecai's frozen wing. Unconsciously, his tail wrapped around the limp, feathery appendage, and held onto it tightly, quivering ever so slightly.

_After freeing all of the hot dogs from the package, Rigby learned that not only did they have faces and arms, they had legs too and had their very own tiny winter gear. _I guess it's too cold I here for the meat itself, _thought the raccoon._

_One of the hot dogs stepped forward and reached out his tiny, pink hand, smiling thankfully at the raccoon. Rigby looked at the hand before grinning himself and shaking it with his own paw. He was gonna get out of this hellhole alive after all! At this point, he didn't think this day could get any better._

_"Uuugggghhhhh...Rigby?"_

_Rigby turned his head to look at Mordecai, clutching his head in pain, but still very much not dead. Oh, look; his day just got better. "Oh, hey! You're awake! Mordecai!" Rigby, overjoyed, rushed over to Mordecai's torso and helped support him so he wouldn't fall over._

_"Mordecai! I told you I could fix it! While you were dead, I found these talking hot dogs, and they're gonna help us!"_

_Mordecai turned and gave him an incredulous look. "...What?"_

_"They said they know a way out!"_

The little raccoon's body couldn't hold on for much more. At this point, he had lost all control of his tail and now it laid curled around Mordecai's wing, lifeless. His mind was betraying him, showing him unreal things that distracted him as the cold gradually took over the rest of his body. Every part of him was paralyzed except for his right shoulder and arm. His paw unconsciously clawed at the metal ground, trying to run from the disturbing horrors his brain was telling him were real.

The brain wasn't the only organ that was betraying Rigby. Blood was refusing to rush through his veins at the lack of oxygen, and his lungs were having a hard time trying to function. The raccoon's breathing became erratic, and the tricks of his mind got more and more confusing. Cannibalistic beings were attacking him and his friends, and no matter how hard he ran, they would gang up on him and stop him. Rigby was running out of options. The claws of his paw finally dug it's way into the metal and scraped down it, creating an ear-wrecking screech.

And suddenly, everything stopped.

The disturbing images ceased, his brain telling his arm to relax, which it did, resting by his head, exhausted. His heart slowed by a landslide and his lungs stopped struggling.

Rigby let a small, content smile crawl across his face as he nuzzled his head against the floor, slowing letting his eyes slip shut.

_"I'm sorry, guys. Minor setback," Benson apologized to his pissed-off looking friends. Neither Pops nor Skips looked impressed. "I hope the overnight shipping was worth it," Skips snarked, sarcasm practically dripping off his voice._

_Mordecai and Rigby walked away from the scene, Benson's money in their grasp and smug smirks glued to their face. Not only had Rigby gotten away with the whole hot-dog-massacre thing, but he also had managed to put the blame on Benson and his imported hot dogs, which caused him to give the raccoon money to go and buy normal hot dogs._

_"Dude, that was awesome," the blue jay admitted. "I TOLD you I'd fix it," Rigby replied, in a nonchalant no-big-deal fashion. The two continued grinning as they walked farther away from the poor gumball machine._

_"I knew that you would," Mordecai stated._

And with that, everything went black.

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_**The End**_

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**_**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please rate and review! ^.^


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